Happy

I just got back to the dorms after seeing our new flat for the first time since we did the initial viewing. We both worried that it had somehow improved in our memories- that it had become bigger and brighter. But actually, we were right. It is big and bright and we cannot believe how happy we are to be moving tomorrow morning!

It isn't high spec, and it isn't anything fancy, but for two artists who want to have both a home and good place to work, it is perfect.

Moving Day Approacheth!

Yesterday we signed the contracts and they handed us some keys, and all of a sudden we realized that the new flat is OURS! How did that happen?! We move tomorrow morning, first thing.

Can you believe it? Someone actually made the mistake of thinking I was a responsible adult who can be trusted with an apartment.

Celebrate

I find myself at home with a sudden head cold (no, it's not swine flu, for the last god damn time people!) and sitting in bed with little to do but drink tea and bemoan the fact that I'm not out celebrating right now.

So what do I have to celebrate, you ask?

Today my flatmate and I learned that our application for a flat in Hoxton was accepted! And not only that, but we both decided that we hated the student dorms so much that we opted to move out sooner than we originally planned. Instead of September 5th we are now moving in to our new place on August 10th. Yes, I am mere days away from a double bed, a bath tub, a real kitchen, and a living room. Can you believe it? I still don't. I am still skeptical, and sure that something will go wrong. It is too good to be true.

I've lived in a lot of different apartments, but I have always rented a room in someone else's flat. It didn't seem right to leave my stuff in the rest of the house, interrupting their routines and habits. But now? Now I can create my own living habits and my stuff can be anywhere! I can do logical things like make a place for my DVDs in the living room! I can leave my sketchbook and paints on the table without fear of being in someone's way. This is huge for me, you see. I finally get to occupy the space I have and make it my own.

Secondly, and in some ways more importantly, I would like to formally announce that I have decided to leave Central Saint Martins School of Shit and Bollocks.

This, I believe, warrants a drink. A toast, even. Raise your glasses if you will to the end of an era and beginning of another, far better one.

When I found out that Evil Tutor failed my latex project (despite telling me it was good all the way through the process) I made up my mind that I would not be returning to that awful sham they call a university, regardless of whether they wanted me to repeat 1st year or move on to 2nd year.

Words cannot describe how incredibly happy I am to be free of that place.

For the first time in years I feel inspired, eager to learn. Eager to make my own way, to go out into the world and absorb information. I want to do everything, create everything, experience everything. I feel free. I have no solid plan, just a good solid feel for the direction I want to head in. And that is liberating.

Of course I can't deny that CSM is a good name to have on your degree. Those three letters will open a lot of doors for a designer. Though, point of interest, I have come to realize that it will also close doors.

In making the decision to leave the school, I came across an interesting phenomenon in the design world. Being able to say "I graduated from St Martins" is great, but there is a certain respect I get when I say that I studied at St Martins only to realize that the reputation wasn't justified, and chose to leave. Funny, that.

In case I haven't made it painfully clear, this is not a school that will teach you anything, least of all actual, technical skills. Now I know that we all love the idea of simply drawing out a pretty sketch and handing it to someone else to make, but frankly that is bullshit. You need to follow through. True artists of any kind need to understand their materials, their craft, their process.... and often those things will inform and change their design. Half the stress/fun is in the process of trying to make one of your designs and seeing how it changes and becomes better.

The reason I got my internship with my awesome design mentor is not because I went to CSM, but because I studied at a technical fashion school and have a background in theatre and performance. I even said in my initial letter to her that "despite hailing from St Martins, I have not yet had my love for design or theatricality beaten out of me." She knew exactly what I meant.

My point is simply that there is something to be said for knowing how to make things. Any things. Whatever sort of things you want to make. And if you want to learn to make things, then St Martins is not the place to be.


So raise one more glass to the end of St Martins. And give Evil Tutor the finger for me, will you?

In the meantime I am looking into community college classes while I consider other universities. And should I decide to attend another uni, I have decided that the classes I take will not be in fashion.

I need a break.

But I also have a good solid foundation in fashion now, and it's time to start expanding outwards. In order to do this I am devoting four or five days a week to my internship to learn as much as possible from the designers I work for. And when I begin taking classes again, I want to learn to work with other materials so I can incorporate them into my designs- plastic, wood, metal, etc. I want to work in anything besides fabric and learn anything except fashion.

More shoe making and design courses are already queued up (more on that later), and from these classes I have also developed a rather subversive plan regarding my future shoe designs. See, a friend of mine at CSM asked if I was planning on continuing to learn how to make shoes, and if so, would I design and make the shoes for her final show at St Martins. I of course said yes! See, this way I get to have my final 3rd year show at St Martins by putting my shoes in the show, right under the nose of Evil Tutor and all those other fuckers who told me I was shit. BWAHAHAHAHA <---evil laughter and mustache stroking

Hell, if you've managed to read this far I think you deserve one more drink. Raise your glass one more time to the closing of a miserable year at an all-consuming, pretentious, and useless school, and the end of a year living in a moldy, tiny, uncomfortable dorm room.


Cheers.

< / First Year at CSM >

Today was my final day of first year at Central St Martins.

I can hear music blasting from every floor of the student halls. Drunks are occupying on every corner. I must be the only person not out celebrating.

"Ceeeeeeelebrate good times, come on!"

I am in my very stuffy dorm room watching bad movies and fucking up my healthy diet by eating some ice cream. My flat mates are out. I have the whole place to myself. It's lonely and rather lovely. I should watch a scary movie....

"Are you still my sunshine?"

So you probably want to know how my last day went. Well.... hm. My crit was, um, uneventful and confusing. Evil Tutor was there and as per usual he gave me NO FEEDBACK. My crit was literally three minutes long. I have no idea what he thought, or what my grade will be. Big surprise, right?

Just as a point of interest, my best London friend presented immediately after I did... She walked up to the tutor as I took my model into the bathroom to de-latex her. About 5 minutes later my model, cleaned and dressed, walked back into the room to gather her stuff, and my friend was still discussing her work with Evil Tutor. I walked my model down to the ground floor and we hugged and said goodbye and I walked all the way back up to the room where we were presenting. All in all, I was out of the room for a total of about ten minutes and when I got back my friend was STILL getting in depth feedback from Evil Tutor.

See, this is how he operates. If he loves you or hates you, he gives you TONS of feedback. If he thinks you are a lost cause or doesn't understand your work at all, he more or less ignores you completely. I am always ignored. Always have been. And not because he doesn't understand, but I can tell that he feels I'm a lost cause.

Frankly, I don't give a damn anymore. Whether or not I get kicked out, I never have to deal with that useless little fucker again.

"What is love, baby don't hurt me...." (There is some asshole on the street singing along loudly and catcalling all the cute girls that walk by. He hasn't left which means no one has fallen for his line yet.)

Oh and another point of interest- I saw my grade for the denim project today. My lowest grade yet! 28. GO ME! *roll eyes*

I guess in the end it really doesn't matter because my dress was very well received by most of the class and my model looked fabulous in it. It's only the second latex garment I've ever made. It was a laborious and tiring way to do it, but it came out looking precisely like my drawing (except for a few fitting issues that I will go fix in a little while).

Observe, readers:

So, what do you think?


I would like to end this entry with some grand, eloquent words about what I have learned from CSM. But I have no words like that at my disposal at the moment. My brain power is limited to romcoms and chocolate this evening. So instead I end this, the last day of first year (and quite possibly my last day at CSM ever) with these wise, learned words of wisdomness:

Sleep is a wonderful thing. Good night.

A Day in the Life

Today I am going to blow my budget on a few metres of latex which I will then cut apart into tiny bits, only to glue it back together with the help of my bored flat mates who I have guilt tripped into helping me. I've found that the not-only-are-you-all-done-with-school-already-but-you-all-complain-about-being-bored-all-the-time-so-who-wants-to-help-me-cut-expensive-things-into-tiny-shards approach works well.

I foresee a lot of coffee in my immediate future.

Looking Back

Rereading my old posts this evening I have noticed a few things. First, I think it is safe to safe that I have had a really tough year. I wanted London to be an exciting adventure, and instead it has been an absolute trial. But the second thing I noticed is how I have changed so much since I moved here nine months ago.

In my reading I ran across this entry, entitled I Hope Nostalgia Makes This All Seem Better dated 18 November of last year. I talked about hoping that I would look back on that first term when I faced my fear of failing and think about it as a good ol' learning experience. Turns out that the learning experience I would look back on would be an entire year of consistent failing and fighting and picking myself up over and over again. I had no idea what was coming for me.

I had no idea that I would learn to accept failure and get over it quickly. I had no idea I was capable of being smacked down so many times and getting back up again. I had no idea what hard work really was in fact.

I had no idea that the hard work would not pay off. I had no idea that the school would be run by rule-enforcing monkeys who see in black and white. I had no idea that CSM would in fact turn out to be a fantastic school for students who already know exactly how to do what CSM wants. I had no idea that I would learn so much DESPITE CSM and not BECAUSE of it. The girl who wrote that entry would never have guesed that she would be so fed up with the bullshit at CSM that she would secretly be glad they were throwing here out so she could pursue other interests.

I had no idea that I would ever be able to get an internship. And NEVER would I have guessed that I would have the presence of mind to choose to stay in London and seek out opportunities instead of going back to the comfort of my boyfriend. The girl that wrote that on the 18th of November had no idea about anything.

And yet despite all of it, I still struggle with many of the same things I always have. The long distance relationship is still incredibly difficult for me. That has not gotten any easier- in fact it has gotten more difficult the longer I stay here. I still face the same hurdles when I get stressed out. I still struggle with feeling insignificant and untalented when faced with the talented people I study with. I am still prone to fits of utter hopelessness and despair when faced with an impossible situation, and I still find myself being unreasonably furious at The Boy when he isn't there to give me a hug and calm me down. I still find that although I am MUCH better at taking criticism, I do not have a sense of confidence within myself that will ever match the strength of complimentary words from others.

It if for all these reasons that I know I am not ready to leave Europe. I am not the person I want to be when I return home. I am far from it. But someday maybe I will get to look back on this year and find that nostalgia will allow me to see the value in the experience.

It wasn't a total waste.

Empty

The flat is empty.

Tumbleweeds are rolling down my windy hallway.

A lone banjo plays a few dramatic notes. (Actually, it's Gary Numan you're hearing, but let's just pretend shall we?)

I draw my... well, I'm trying to draw a new collection actually. Utterly lost in the feverish haze I've been stuck in the last two days. But I propped up on good strong drugs, and hoping that when my flatmates return they will come bearing Ben and Jerry's. Healthy? No. Tasty? Oh my yes.

When I leave my room, and Mr Numan's musical repertoire can no longer be heard, the only sound breaking the complete silence is my oh-so-sexy coughing and hacking. *snifl *kaffkaff *groan

I am considering making a dress out of hair. Not in a creepy way, so much as a Hedwig/fabulous way. But much bigger. And couture-ish. I am not sure if this is an unwise and incredibly difficult route to go down. So I might reconsider, given my time restraints. But how fabulous would it be to have a hairstyle that becomes your dress? I know a few drag queens back in SF who would give their left fake breast to have something like that. And if I made matching shoes... They'd have to cross their legs and stay seated for a while. (Oh and I am actually working a way to incorporate magnificent fake lashes into the dress too. Down boy. Down.)

Still no news on the marks for the Westwood-ish shirt. We are all very irritated about the two week wait. Nothing to calm a stressed student down like having no idea how they are doing on their work, eh?

Now, back to work. Will keep you posted on all fronts.

Sick

Party at my flat last night- TOTAL DISASTER.

Well it was for me at least, as I spent the whole evening throwing up and sobbing into a towel for no real reason.

I've never been drunk enough to throw up or not remember things. And I didn't have too much to drink, either. I guess something just didn't agree with me.

After my VERY caring room mates sat with me and rubbed my back while I threw up the entire contents of my body (I swear, if I vomited up a lung or my spleen I wouldn't be surprised) they managed to put me to bed. I woke at 6am and thought I was at my boyfriend's house for some reason. I turned expecting him to be there to hold me and warm me up, and felt my heart sink into my stomach when I realized where I was.

Got up, had some tea, sat around in the messy party remains in the kitchen eating slices of cheese and toast until I got too cold and crawled into bed again. Walking back into my room, I could survey the damage: apparently my sink decided to start leaking in a serious way, the shelving in my shower decided to fall, and my room was a giant mess of my clothes which I had managed to take off piece by piece over night. Either my entire flat smells slightly of the acidic contents of my stomach, or my nose has been burned by the acid and it's all I can taste and smell.

Everything is a mess and I just want last night to have not happened. I am so embarrassed I don't want to face anyone today. Even though I am not hung over, the whole evening made me feel really vulnerable and lonely.

Quick

A very quick update, as I am exhausted and busy:

I have the Congratulations-You-Failed-and-Now-Have-Twice-the-Work project half way done. It is due Friday morning. On top of that we have started our new project. Very stressed for time. However, it is a team project and I was paired up with one of my favorite people in the class. I feel very lucky. But first, I must magically finish this project for Friday. Eep!

No word on my grade for the shirt project yet. DYING to know what mark I earned.

My relationship with The Boy is undergoing some significant changes right now. And they are insightful, challenging, sad, happy, and confusing. More on that later.

I need a massage. All this stress, and hunching over my sewing makes me feel like I should be ringing the bells of Notre Dame or something. Like Spiderman said... "I hunch."

My flatmates have organized an "un-valentines" party for Saturday evening. Could be hilarious, could be fun. If nothing else, as the only person at the party who can hold their drink, it will be amusing watching my friends get drunk and play Twister in the kitchen.

And with that, I bid you good night. I hope to have the time to posts something more in depth in the next few days.

Flat

Inspired perhaps by one of my flatmates moving out in the near future, I have become obsessed with the idea of moving out of the student halls and into a real flat.

The layout of our dorm is very isolating, and not terribly condusive to working, I've found. I think that having to spend all the your time in one room makes it hard to get into the mindset of work, when the exact same space is also used for everything else.

I shouldn't be focusing on this right now, seeing as how I am panicking over my homework load. But I happened to walk past a rental agency on my way home from the gym today (I finally took a floor/mat pilates class this afternoon) and I stared at their listings in the window for probably ten minutes, aching and longing in my very bones. Hm, or maybe it was the pilates doing that...

Anyhow, I am tired of not having a real kitchen, or a living room, or a bed that isn't too small for me. I miss being able to have people over. And I hate that going home to me means spending time in one tiny little room. Oh god, and I miss having a bath tub! I miss baths! I want to find no more than two other friends to live with, and make a little home for myself in the East End. Soon. Sooner than later.

Room Mates to the Rescue

It's funny how you find friends in the least expected places. The room mate I thought I would get along with best has turned out to be very illusive and rarely home and the room mates I thought I would not get along with at all have become the people I am most comfortable with.

We are all very different people. They are not normally the type of person I would pick out to be my friends. Really, we have almost nothing in common. But when I flew back to London, one of those room mates met me at Paddington station to help me manage my suitcases back to the flat. They fed me and hugged me when I spent the whole evening in body-shaking sobs over leaving my boyfriend behind.

On my first night back, terrified of being alone, I fell asleep in a room mate's room watching a movie. I crawled back into my own room later that night, only to wake at 3am missing my boyfriend with every part of my being. I felt like my heart was breaking, and I was terrified of being alone. I broke out into tears, miserable and feeling completely and utterly lost. But it so happened that one of my room mates was awake, heard me crying, and despite being the most sarcastic and distant girl in the flat, made me tea and listened to me for an hour. She then invited me into her room (she is very private usually) and put on some stupid TV show, knowing it was stupidly dramatic enough to distract me from my real drama.

At 6am I crawled back into bed and fell asleep again. I woke up feeling exhausted but much better. I felt like I had gone to the flat mates at my worst and they had offered hugs and sympathy when I needed it most. I am usually very hesitant about sharing my real feelings with people, but I braved it because I couldn't bear the thought of feeling so alone.

This morning we all woke up and made pancakes and bacon for breakfast. Yesterday they took me swimming. We have watched all three Pirates of the Caribbean movies and eaten home made chocolate mousse. Between loaning me electric blankets, helping me unpack, and making sure I eat, they have all taken very good care of me. And now we are going to a jewelry exhibition to see if we can get inspired for our various homework projects.

As much as I hated coming back here and leaving my boyfriend in San Francisco, I am so so so very glad I live with kind hearted people.

Bang Bam Boom

It began when I was building a set of drawers I bought from IKEA.

I had to hammer in some nails, but being that I did not have a hammer I found a good hard book and began pounding in the nails with my fist, through the book. I thought nothing of it until someone banged really hard on the floor below me.

Oh my god, I completely forgot that someone was living below me! And here I was at 12am making loud banging noises. No wonder they pounded on the ceiling. I felt like an ass!

I really didn't want this to become "a thing" between two faceless people with a growing resentment of the other, so I owned up to my mistake and wrote the person a note, which I slid under the door to their flat. It said:

"Dear (Room#),
I am so sorry about the noise last night. I really hope I didn't wake you up, but if I did I owe you a good strong drink. It's the least I can do.
Love (my Room #)"

That whole day I hoped that they got my note, and that this person wasn't seething in their room, sleep deprived and cranky. But I got no response from the resident of the room below me.

However the next morning, I found a note slipped under my flat's door. It read:

"Dear (Room #),
Haha! You did wake me up, but it's okay! I just had to bang on the ceiling, though. So I will take you up on that drink sometime!
Love, (Room#)"

I was relieved that the person below me wasn't pissed and evil. But I realize that I had just asked some unknown person out for a drink. Judging from the handwriting, I suspected the person below me was a girl, but for all I know some huge, sweaty, pimple faced boy was happily accepting my offer of a free drink. So I wrote one more note:

"Dear (Room#),
So uh, who the hell are you? I just realized we've never met and I have no idea who you are. My name is Rachael, and here's my email if you want to look me up on facebook or something. Or just stop by!"

Yesterday, two very sweet girls showed up at our front door and introduced themselves as our downstairs housemates. The girl below me is REALLY cool, and I really want to get to know her better. She asked about what I was doing that made so many loud noises and I told her about the IKEA stuff, which inspired her to look them up online and consider ordering some drawers too. I offered to help build them for her... it's the least I could do, right?

"I am so glad you're a girl," I said to her. She laughed,
"Yeah, I could have been some big scary guy who came up here to yell at you for making all that noise."
"You could have paid some guy on the street to come up here and harass me, you know..."
"Oh my god, I should have done that," she said. "Hm, will you be here tomorrow night around, say 6? I mean, no reason, just asking..."

And so what could have been a silent hateful situation turned into what I hope is a potential friend. (As an aside, she's really cute and is kinda my type too.) And FINALLY we know some other people who live in our building. So I guess in a way, it was a good thing that I decided to build IKEA furniture at all hours of the night.

New Duvet Report: Warm

While at Sainsbury's my room mate and I bought some heavy-weight duvets because we have both been freezing cold at night. After sleeping under mine last night, I can happily report that I am no longer required to sleep in pajamas and a sweater.

Hooray!

Dorm Progression, week 5

To counter the gloomy nature of my last few posts here's a pretty picture or two of my dorm room, as it's slowly getting more livable.

You can see why I need shelving and drawers. It's getting a bit cluttered, and I hate clutter.



I finally got a cheap full length mirror (which I am using to hang bags off of, apparently). I happened to see this mirror for sale in a dodgy shop a few miles down the road from my dorm. I paid the nervous looking man, and carried it for the next couple of hours. First into a Chinese restaurant where I went to dinner, and then carried another mile or two home. It's a well-traveled little mirror.




And I got this wooden box originally to put some light-sensitive things in, but found that storing things in it and using it as a bedside table was much more pragmatic. And this afternoon I stuck some old pictures on it, and a collage I did a few years back on plastic. It's a little dodgy, but better than plain wood.

I Can't Shelf the Issue (har dee har)

It is safe to say I am obsessed with finding a way to get some drawers and storage into this dorm room. I tried to reorganize my stuff last night (I don't even have that much stuff here) and it was an exercise in frustration more than anything else.

A trip to IKEA is in order. I've taken measurements, I know what I'm looking for. I just need to go and buy a few things. I need to stop obsessing and solve the problem. I will feel much better when I have a place to put my socks that isn't the same drawer as my paint supplies and computer accessories.

Also, I saw this on A Softer World and it seemed appropriate to my last post. It made me smile.

Exhausted and Slightly Downtrodden

I cannot seem to sleep. I think it has something to do with sleeping alone in a tiny bed after years of being in a queen size bed with someone else. My restless nights are compounded by regular fire alarms in the building at all hours. And then last night a mirror fell off my shelf, smashed into a plate on the desk below and sent my makeup flying around the room, shattering into the carpet. I wanted to go back to sleep, but it wasn't mean to be.

Sound travels down the hallway, and every morning a few of the room mates' more piercing voices find their way to me as they prepare breakfast in the kitchen. Sleeping in rarely happens on planet Redhead, but a little sleep would be nice right about now.

Zzzzzzz five more minutes, Mom....

Anyhow, my summer project presentation was disheartening, to say the least. I knew I hadn't gone all out for it. I knew I could have made presentation boards and painted pretty pictures. But I didn't. I was focused on the emotional havoc caused by moving, and when I arrived here I arrived with no art supplies and no fabric. Art was not high on the to-do list, I'm afraid.

But when most of the class pulled out collaged books of photographs and fabric experiments, followed by books of illustrations and test runs on mannequins, or fully painted renderings and beautiful hand made fabrics they did themselves.... I realized that I really need to step up my game.

I have never before been at the bottom of a class. I've always pulled an easy A, or at least an easy high B. But sitting in this classroom, watching everyone else present their beautiful work and all the research and time and effort they put into it.... I was ashamed to get up there and show my crappy little sketchbook. I turned red, forget everything I wanted to say, made a few excuses, flipped through a couple pages to show my thought process, and stood there to meet the blank, bored stares of my classmates and professors.

"Do I really want this?" I asked myself. "Am I cut out for this?"

And then I asked, "am I really so lazy that I'm not willing to work my way up to the top?" This program is going to be hard for me. I suppose I am used to my work being "pretty good" on average. This program is going to be quite a trial, I think.

I am not so competitive that I need to be the best. But I refuse to be the worst. I have got to pull out all the stops and dive in. I need to do things that are not fun or easy for me. I need to establish that I am not the lazy American girl that presented a shitty project the first day of class. I cannot let that first impression last. My next project has to be amazing. It has to be fucking incredible.

But on the bright side, I suppose I have nowhere to go but up. If you start at the bottom, your progress is more noted, more obvious. If you start at the bottom, you have the opportunity to blow them out of the water someday when they least expect it.

So I guess I just need to stop distracting myself and focus. Focus entirely on my courses, and not on running home to chat online, or wandering around high street looking for a jacket and a pretty lamp. From here on out, if there is any chance that I could reach higher and push myself harder, I need to do it. I need to focus on school. I did not come here to sit around online like I did back home.

And I need to get some sleep.

G'nite.

The Fun Begins....

It all began when I received my sewing machine in the mail. After finding that a few things arrived broken in a previous box, I decided that it would be wise to take a break from my homework and unpack the machine to make sure it was in working condition. Worst. Decision. Ever.

I find an adapter for the US plug and attempt to turn the sewing machine on. POW! All the electricity in my room goes out. Normally I would just go find the fuse box and flip a switch, but our switches are behind locked doors, so I had to find someone who had a key.

The Senior Resident on call was a very sweet girl named Lauren. We opened every single locked door in the flat , and after we had no luck finding my room's fuse box, I suddenly had a thought. Remember that "potentially problematic door" I posted a photo of? I asked her if the fuse box for my room might be outside in the fire escape area. Turns out I was right... But this suggestion of mine kicked off a series of discoveries that led to an interesting night for the whole flat.

When Lauren tried to unlock the "potentially problematic" fire door we realized that the lock had been broken, and that the door has been open to the outside world this whole time. All my jokes about setting up a lounge area in the room off of the fire escape? They weren't funny any more because we found that our unlocked fire door had left our flat open to anyone in our building. Adding to the sudden feeling of discomfort was compounded by the fact that it seemed a lot of other people knew they could get up here and took advantage of it.

When Lauren and I (followed by my flat mates, many of whom were awakened by the noise) went out into the hallway to flip my fuse switch, we found that someone decided that our indoor fire escape was a good place to do some spray paint artwork. The ghost of spray painted 11x17 papers in various colors littered the carpeting. Our mystery artist even left a can of red paint and their latest creation drying on the floor in front of my fuse box.

We turned the corner and found that someone had been smoking on our steps, and left us a little mess to clean. (Last week, many of us commented that our hallway smelled of smoke. Now we know why.)

It was midnight by now, and this whole situation would have looked very funny if it weren't for one problem. All this "vandalism" was done outside out top floor flat, so it of course would appear that WE did it. The fine for something like this is a few hundred quid, minimum.

But the only problem we could deal with at midnight was my lack of electricity. Now that we'd found my fuse box, we flipped the switch. Nothing happened. We did it again, and waited. Still nothing. Phone calls were made, drama ensued, but when the overhead light popped back on in my room, there was great rejoicing in the camp! Everyone shuffled back to their rooms, I thanked Lauren profusely, offered to buy her a bottle of wine for her trouble, and settled down to complete my homework.

Before she left Lauren promised to talk to the building owners on our behalf regarding the mess and mysterious broken lock (and hopefully get it fixed so we aren't giving everyone free access to our flat).

All was well it seemed. That is until I found that despite my overhead light working, all my electrical sockets were still completely dead.

I called Lauren again, very apologetically, and we began searching for the mystery switch that would turn my power sockets back on. The noise of Lauren and I talking alerted all the room mates that something was up, and soon they were all awake and gawking at the cigarettes and spray paint.

My room mates were understandably of freaked out about the unlocked fire door, and tempers were rising about the mess. But none of this was as pressing a concern to me as the fact that nothing seemed to be turning my power sockets back on. With everyone's permission, Lauren and I shut off the main power to the whole flat. Sitting in the dark hallway, lit only by emergency lighting, what could you do but laugh at the situation? "Wow, you broke the flat the first day of school," someone said to me. Heh, whoops.

It was 12:30 or so, and I was getting a little punchy. I was finding that my concern about not having power was slowly being outweighed by concerns about the fines that we would have to fight when the building managers found out about the mess our mystery friends had made.

All the girls seemed to be getting progressively more upset about the spray paint on the floor. The lovely piece of artwork that our mysterious artistic friend had left to dry seemed to be egging them on. I think a few of the girls were feeling very exposed and victimized, what with the door to our flat unlocked and broken. So I decided to do something that would make us all feel in control again, and redirect our collective anger back to the place where it should have been. I grabbed a dark marker....



... and let them know that we were somewhat annoyed.



I really hope the artist comes upstairs looking for their paint cans and art piece soon.

I guess my punchiness had rubbed off on everyone because as soon as I emerged from my room with a pen announcing my intentions, my flat mates grabbed their cameras to record me being what was later termed "the flat's guard bitch" and "the mean one" and "the girl who starts shit". (It was suggested that they get me a "guard dog on duty" sign for my door. "Why not just put a nice big welcome mat outside our unlocked fire escape door?" I had said. "What, so you can beat up anyone who comes through?" they'd giggled.)

We never did get my power turned back on. I am writing to you now on battery power while the wine buzz wears off. At 1:00am we ended the evening with a lot of shrugging, and a "who needs wine and cookies?!" comment that brought about, well, wine and cookies.

So maybe I started some shit with the people below us. But you know what? Fuck them. I am pissed that their actions might cause a very expensive fight with the building owners. I am completely prepared to follow this through, too. If the people downstairs want to fuck with us, the flat's "guard bitch on duty" is happy to confront them. In fact, I suppose I already have. And the whole mess will be reported by a Senior Resident who was there to witness the situation and who took photos of the whole thing. Let the fun begin...

If all goes well, an electrician will show up tomorrow around 8am to fix my room's power. And maybe the door to our flat will be locked before anyone can try to retaliate for my little note. (Hm, maybe I should have considered that before I wrote on their artwork, hm?)


...you know, I never did get this homework done....

Stinky

By the way, nothing starts the day off right quite like having no running water in the building. Perhaps I should just strip and go run in the lovely rain outside. Ahhhhh, England!

Potential

So my dorm flat feels very much like a hospital. It is not a happy or welcoming place. This is our hallway:

We have all lamented the fact that the only hang out space we have is our pathetic little kitchen in the middle of the flat.

This evening (perhaps fueled by entirely too much wine with dinner) I had a thought as I walked to my room. See that green fire exit sign in the photo above? It points to a door that opens to a hallway to a fire escape. I pass that door every day and never before noted the fact that there is a little room off of the hallway.



Hmmmmmmmmmmmm........

Yes, we would get into all sorts of trouble if anyone found out. But it could be full of a shag rug and a coupla bean bags and, like, a lava lamp, dude. I mean, come on, it wouldn't even be in the way of the hallway to the fire exit, so it's not dangerous...

However, that green key-like thingamy on the door is potentially problematic as none of us know if it will set off the fire alarm. But being the bad person I am, I might find myself consulting the flat mates before trying it just to see what happens.

Or maybe I shouldn't drink so much.

Dorm Progression, week 2

Ok it hasn't been exactly two weeks yet, but I had a moment of artsy craftsy clever-ness and wanted to share the cuteness that is now my window covering:

"But wait," you say, "you are not allowed to put up curtains or hang anything on walls!" You would of course be right, and this is where my arsty craftsy-ness came into play. As I was drifting off to sleep last night I had an idea about how to hang some fabric over my window. I happened to find that red scarf at a vintage shop today and the whole thing came together a few minutes ago. (I also found the awesome/hideous/fabulous scarf that is hanging over my chair at the same store.)

I pulled some thick elastic very tightly across the wooden frame of the window and put a snap into the two ends to keep it in a nice tight loop, thus giving me a way to hang some fabric over the elastic band. I can also tie the scarf up in the middle with some ribbon I happen to have, giving it a nice draped look that lets more light through.

And now I'm sitting at my desk enjoying the warm toned light coming through the scarf while I refine some of the sketches I did in my new favorite local coffee shop.

Go me!